Babylon Burning
by Absoluteroro
Summary: Following the events of Nolan's The Dark Knight, the city of Gotham is in danger once more. When its only hopes lies on the sagging shoulders of the dismantled and discredited hero- Batman, who will the city turn to? And how can it be saved from itself?


**Prompt: He took a big gulp of coffee.**  
>None of these characters belong to me.<p>

* * *

><p>It was only Tuesday, and as typical as those usually went, today appeared to be even duller than normal. There was a few break-ins, a mugging and a property trespassing, but this was relatively a good day. Two suspects were already in custody for the break-ins, and the mugger had been apprehended only a few hours previously in a non-hostile arrest. The general sense of a job well done permeated throughout the headquarters, and in the hopes of making it home in time to spend a little time with the kids, or the dog, or the newest episode of that one show, every member of the police force worked with a fervor and a quickness that was most uncommon. Everyone seemed to be rushing from one place or another, to print off copies of important documents, and then to fax said documents, or to make imperative and necessary phone calls to equally imperative and necessary personages. A cacophony of ringing phones, furiously clacking computer keys and the clicking of pens all meshed together into the background, and mingled with the many conversations taking place, the particular busied hum of work, in general, buzzed around the office of the Gotham City Police Department.<p>

In the back of the main hall, in the largest office inside of the building, Commissioner Gordon sat at his desk, tired eyes scanning through sheafs of papers and intermittently signing or initialing (when required) with a heavy hand. The large windows behind him were drawn closed and with only the stale and yellowed light provided by blinking fluorescent lightbulbs, the man was forced to squint past the harsh, artifical glare reflected off of his wire-framed glasses. Working with, it seemed, much difficulty, he plodded and drudged himself through the enormous amounts of paperwork piled at one end of his desk, all the while bent over in a most uncomfortable position in his high-backed, leather chair. The old-fashioned analogue clock on the wall ticked slowly, its face reading just a little past twelve in the afternoon, and it too, seemed to find itself laboured with its job, and much like the man it belonged to, toiled with the time. Twenty minutes passed, and then another, before eventually Gordon looked up.

He had made it a little more than halfway through his pile, and perhaps to give his eyes a break from row after row of neat black print and so much white, he stared absentmindedly out of the small window in his door, watching the scenes outside. He observed with a slight disdain the suspiciously calm environment, it made him nervous.  
>Ever since the events of last year, with the death of Harvey Dent and the 'manhunt' he'd personally declared upon Batman, things, in general, have seemed...peaceful. Too much so. He sensed something was on the horizon, and something big. No calm, as uneasy as this one was especially, could be anything but the type that preludes a storm.<em><br>_He turned back to his drudgery. His chest immediately deflating upon doing so. The dismal amount of work left to do weighed heavily on him, effectively pushing his paranoia aside for the time being, and he soon found himself staring off into space once more.  
><em>All of this paperwork is not for me.<br>_He spared a look at the numerous folders and files scattered across his desk, before brusquely shoving them to the side and dropping his pen into the misshapen clay holder his son had made in art class.  
><em>I didn't work to get to this position to push papers around all day...<br>_He tiredly raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and massage his temples, placing his glasses on the desk beside him.  
><em>I joined for the action. The thrill of keeping the streets safe, and clean and making the world a better place. Or at least the city, anyways.<br>_A weary eye glazed over the picture of his wife and children in the popsicle-stick frame his daughter made at camp two summers ago.  
><em>Of protecting the innocent, and keeping things like love and hope alive in such bleak times. To offer comfort and be looked up to, to inspire others to want to sacrifice their lives to the greater g-<em>

The ringing phone jolted Gordon from his reverie and left him a bit confused, but recovering quickly, he slid the phone off its cradle and held it firmly to his ear.  
>"Gotham City Police Department, Gordon speaking."<br>He discreetly pressed the recording button on the small black device hooked up to the phone line; experience taught him to take small precautions like this.  
>There was a curious silence on the other end, the only audible sound a low static hum.<br>Instantly alert, those short hairs on the back of his neck prickling, Gordon's knuckles gripped the phone tensely, his ears opened and held tautly, as he strained to hear.  
>"Hello? Is this an emergency call?"<br>Was is just him or was the static sound gradually become louder, intensifying each precious second he waited?  
>"Hello? Is there anyone- oh!"<br>He had to yank the phone away from his ear, the screeching noise that erupted from the phone in an inhuman wail had startled him. As he stared in shock at the plastic phone, the high-pitched sound had begun to disentangle itself from the grating quality which made it so hard to listen to, and Gordon began to hear a familiar voice emerging.  
>Quickly picking the phone back up, while painfully ignoring the loudness, a familiar tingle spread from his toes upward, spreading down his spine in waves.<br>Suppressing the lightheadedness that often accompanies an adrenaline rush, Gordon's eyes narrowed, his orbs trained piercingly at the bit of wall just above his doorway.  
>In between the distracting background noise and electrical static clouding up the line and sound quality, he could just detect, in short bursts, bits of garbled language. Reaching for the pen again, and flipping over the nearest piece of paper he could find (which happened to be a very important notarized document regarding the City Council's decision to repeal section 23C-QR of the Protective bill the State Governor had just passed), Gordon scribbled furiously.<br>After a few minutes there was complete silence on the other end, not even the static remained, he promptly began scanning over the confusing jargon he had managed to catch in this brief downtime.  
>"60LinCPlz10023..."<br>_What does that mean?  
><em>He was in the middle of attempting to re-read, and thereby make sense of the nonsense, when the line suddenly went dead, but not before a sickeningly familiar strain of laughter oozed through the receiver.  
>Sitting stiffly, and quite still, Gordon sprang to life as the he dropped the phone onto the desk, the dial tone flatlining.<br>He had finally realized what the mysterious string of numbers was- an address.

He grabbed his coat and his glasses, and with a grim smile he reached for the cooling cup near the edge of his desk; he took a big gulp of coffee, and mused, quite darkly, how this was exactly the kind of work he was made for.  
>Rushing out the door, Gordon spared a brief glance at the forgotten paperwork on his desk.<br>_Leave that work to the pencil pushers._  
>He gritted his teeth, hawklike eyes flashing, as he stalked out of the office, barking orders in the tone that required anyone to do what they were told without any questions asked, and felt for his badge and gun on his waist.<br>"I need a trace on the most recent phone call on my line, and I need it now. Get me a SWAT team A.S.A.P! I'm gonna need a 500 ft. clearance, full evacuation and medical support at this address," He rattled off the jarbled numbers and letters from earlier, his booming voice shattering the lazy, idyllic scene, chaos erupting. Papers flew, while feet scuffed the linoleum floors in the rush to meet his demands, and young rookies stared wide-eyed at the commissioner, dumbfounded as to what exactly all of this hubbub meant.  
>Gordon silently reveled in the tumult, in the exciting, electrifying air that had lighted, and the high energy that began to bubble within the belly of the large stone building.<br>Relishing in the thrill of the hunt, and feeling particularly confident, Gordon pushed aside a particularly slack-jawed new transfer from some hick unit in Idaho, and stared coolly ahead, his heart racing.  
><em>This was more like it.<em>


End file.
